Nightfall
by Azzandra
Summary: There was a time, just after the wall was raised and just before the worgen curse struck, that Gilneas seemed safe. Tess remembers how that illusion was shattered. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

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Author's note: Yes, this was inspired by Cataclysm. I thought it'd be an interesting thing to write about and, unlike my other WoW fic, the focus is not on humor. And also, I had to do research for this fic, which was actually kind of fun, but frustrating. The timeline in particular was giving me hives. Because, hey, saying that the Greymane Wall went up "sometime" after the Second War IS REALLY REALLY VAGUE! I had to guess, pretty much, that Gilneas must have isolated itself something like 3-5 years before the Third War/Warcraft III. Not to mention other problems, such as: how does the worgen curse spread? (I am going to assume that through physical contact, but with a limited success rate, because that would explain how people survived to tell about it.) Or how should I refer to Genn Greymane: as Lord Greymane or as King Genn? (I'll be using Lord Greymane, because that's what the WoWwiki article uses.)

So, keep in mind that I'm going on guesswork here and be lenient.

Enjoy.

---

When Tess thought back to the moment the madness began, her mind did not turn to chilling fate of the Marigot family or even that day she went to search for Charlie in the woods. It turned to the time before that, to a mild summer evening.

She'd stepped out of the church before evening services for a minute. Under the waning sunlight and the lukewarm breeze, she felt a sudden twinge of apprehension, though she could not trace the root of this feeling. Looking across the dusty village road, all seemed as it should be. Villagers milled about their business, each one a familiar face in the small community. The few stands that sold various foodstuffs had been closed and emptied since early afternoon; Tess saw them each day across the street from her church. Men seemed to be congregating at the tavern, their chores for the day complete, while children that had been playing on the streets slowly broke off from their playgroups and headed for home. It was a familiar picture and its domesticity seemed to put Tess's mind at ease.

She idly fidgeted with the holy icon around her neck, a small silver sun with extending rays. She was always soothed when she thought of the Light and she forgot completely about the momentary and unexplainable unease she'd felt. She turned and went back inside.

---

The village of Hillbrook had a population of barely three hundred and for many purposes, some people still went to Duskhaven or even Gilneas City, if Duskhaven could not accomodate. But insignificant though it was, Hillbrook still had a small church and since her husband's demise some years prior, Tess Clearwell had been in charge of her neighbors' spiritual needs.

Her husband, Light rest his soul, had been truly adored in the community, for all that he hadn't been born in Hillbrook. He came, instead, from Duskhaven and while Gilneans were usually very tight-knit and suspicious of outsiders, their old priest had recently died and they'd had to accept Daniel Clearwell lest they live like heathens; after all, people still died, people still wed and the blessings of the Light were still needed. Tess had been much younger then, nearing marrying age, and instantly smitten with the priest, who was five years older. It was, in a rather roundabout way, how she'd come to discover her affinity with the Light. She'd goaded lessons out of him and after many hours spent poring over holy texts, discussing philosophy and practicing her ability to channel the Light, eventually her girlhood crush turned into love and that love somehow ended in a marriage.

The marital bliss lasted all of three years before an idiotic accident involving a recalcitrant horse and a cart filled with logs ended it. She'd certainly raged at first and grieved for quite some time, but in her long hours of prayer, she'd come to reach a clarity of mind that focused her on the present as never before.

One day, she took Daniel's vestments, modified them so they'd better fit her, and by evening she was in church, holding service. The villagers did not grumble much. It was better than having another stranger.

The Greymane Wall came up after that. The mayor had called a meeting and discussed this at length and everybody came to the same conclusion: it was better this way. _Lord Greymane is wise to protect us like this. We will never have to suffer strangers and their odd customs or be dragged into their problems. _The fact that Hillbrook was too insignificant to even be noticed by these outsiders did not really occur to the villagers and life went on as it normally did, the wall making little difference one way or another.

For a time, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

Tess had been weeding the small vegetable garden she kept behind her house when a small child hurried up to her and delivered a message from her father.

"Poppa says ya gotta come to the hill up past the Mariogot homestead real fast," the child spoke quickly and then dashed away, roughly in the direction of the aforementioned hill.

Tess blinked at this, utterly confused, and brushed her hands against her skirt. She was not dressed in her priestly robes and she considered changing, but there seemed to be some urgency in the matter and she didn't think she'd have any official duties to perform on a hill in the middle of practically nowhere. She did splash some water over her face and hands, however. No use running around covered in dirt.

She set off on a brisk pace towards the Marigot homestead. A lady never ran, but a priest was not called upon with such urgency unless someone was injured or possessed. All in all, an injury was much more likely.

She was nearly out of breath when she passed the stout two-storey house that belonged to the Marigots and started climbing the hill towards the group she saw on top. At least seven men were gathered, a couple of women and a whole gaggle of children, who were being shooed away constantly, but did not move more than a few paces before slowly inching closer again to stare at... something.

As she approached, a few eyes turned to her. The mayor was there, just as flushed-faced as her, looking entirely overdressed as always, in his tailcoat and tophat. The Marigots, Wenda and Kyle, were there as well, standing to the side. Wenda looked absolutely inconsolable, but the woman was well-known for her histrionics and was thus not a good gauge for the gravity of the situation. Bill Thompsy, the Marigots' neighbor, however, was quite level-headed and looked quite grim as he turned towards Tess and gestured for her to approach.

"Oh, Mrs. Clearwell, you're here," he said loudly, more to draw the others' attention than to address her.

She finally came within view of the group's focal point-- a dead animal of some sort. Surely she hadn't been called to heal someone's livestock?...

But a man she'd never seen before was standing within the group. He looked unkempt, his brown hair greasy and unwashed, his clothes caked with dust and dried mud, and he carried a blunderbuss on his shoulder. It did not take the wolf that stood by his side to tell her that he was a hunter.

"Why was I called?" she asked and finally took a good look at the dead creature at the ground. Her eyes widened and her jaw slacked. "Oh..."

"Now you see," Bill Thompsy nodded gravely.

The creature was riddled with small wounds and nearly torn to shreds, but some details were still clear. It had the body of a boar with dark brown fur, but the head..._Oh, Light, what is that? _Tess thought, fighting down the bile that rose to her mouth. The head was horribly malformed, strange fleshy growths sprouting out from under the fur. She leaned to get a closer look, but the creature chose that moment to twitch spasmodically and let out a disgusting hacking sound, like its lungs were coming apart.

"Careful, priestess," the hunter said mildly, "it's not quite dead yet."

Grinning slightly, he searched through his weather-worn green jacket and finally took out a pipe. He clasped this in his teeth and next took out a small tin box.

"How is it not dead yet?" Tess asked, choosing to scold him on his unhealthy habits some other time. "It looks thoroughly mauled."

"Eh, Kerrie was a bit overenthusiastic," the hunter shrugged, patting his wolf's head. "But it still took a whole damn lot to take the thing down. It even tried to run away, but we got it before it reached that house. I'm afraid I still raised quite a ruckus, because before I knew it, this lot showed up." He grimaced and gestured towards the assembled villagers.

"What is it?" Tess asked, frowning at the creature. Now that she knew it was alive, she noticed its rapid, shallow breathing.

"Actually... We were hoping you could tell us," Mayor Kerligan coughed nervously.

"Me?" Tess tilted her head, curious as to what chain of thought had led to the conclusion that she was most qualified for this job.

"It's a boar," one man, Hank Dunvoy, snorted derisively.

"It's not nearly as big as any boar I ever seen in Gilneas," the hunter grumbled.

This was probably an old dispute, because everybody exploded into an argument, each one voicing their opinion as loudly as possible. Finally, Bill Thompsy whistled sharply to get their attention and everybody fell into a sullen silence.

"We called ya," Bill finally explained to Tess, "'cause we figure it's some sorta twisted beast and we also figure that a priest might know if it's... well..."

"A demon," Hank Dunvoy supplied when Bill started hesitating.

Mayor Kerligan let out a distraught sound upon hearing the word and took out a handkerchief, dabbing at his sweaty forehead.

Tess bit her lip and looked down at the creature.

"Well, I can try," she said slowly, "but I'm not one of those fancy Northshire priests, so I don't have any idea how much good that'll do."

"Just do yer best," someone from the crowd chimed.

Tess nodded and approached the creature, though not too much. She kneeled down and her hands hovered over the beast, glowing faintly. Everybody tensed as she closed her eyes and concentrated. Even the children, who'd been chattering in the background, each with their own theory, fell silent.

The light connected all living creatures, to a point. Animals were not as deeply present in the Light as sentient beings, but if you sought something, you were sure to find it. It was like looking at a tapestry and trying to find a thread of a particular colour. And sure enough, the muddled and fading life underneath the gory body felt as if had belonged to a forest creature, once. Tess tried to make sense of it now, but whatever had perverted this creature was elusive, hard to grasp. It was a force that felt... vaguely arcane, from what she knew from her studies, but much more malevolent.

With a final, quiet gasp, the creature died and Tess's eyes flew open. Blood was bubbling around what could generously be called the creature's mouth and with a twitch of the lip, Tess took several steps back.

"Not a demon," she proclaimed finally. Everybody seemed to relax a bit and Mayor Kerligan let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "It used to be a boar, I think, but it was struck by what I think was either a disease or a curse."

Everybody gave the cooling corpse a lingering look.

"Told ya it's a boar," Hank Dunvoy muttered with a smirk.

"Yeah, but what turned a boar into that?" Kyle Marigot asked, the last word dripping with disgust.

"Beats the hell outta me," Bill Thompsy shrugged.

Everyone fell silent for a moment, staring down at the abominable creature. Finally, someone suggested burning the mutated animal and everybody broke off to find firewood.

Tess, the mayor and several others left after that, but by the time she reached the village, it was dark and looking back, she could see the fire on the hillside. The changing winds carried a foul stench to the village and she quickly retreated to her home.


	3. Chapter 3

Mild summer turned to wet autumn, as heavy rains started pelting Hillbrook. The waning light and fickle weather trapped villagers in their homes and, barring any great need, few ventured outside as days became cooler and darker. Few still were inclined to drop in at the church, except for holy days or other important events that necessitated a priest's blessing. Tess found herself spending more and more time in the church's small library, where a crackling fireplace, a comfortable chair, a blanket and a cup of tea facilitated her studies.

More and more often, Tess found herself searching the shelves for answers, though to what questions, she was not sure. She picked up books, random ones, at first, but quickly settling on medical literature and any information she could find on curses. But while Daniel had kept an extensive collection for a meer village priest, it filled only one bookcase and it was sorely lacking compared to the library in Northshire or, at least, Gilneas City. Even _Duskhaven_ might have had a more complete collection, as far as Tess knew.

But still she read a re-read these old, familiar books, their rough, dusty pages stirring up sensory memories of her early-- childish-- romantic overtures, memories with a bittersweet tang that both saddened and comforted her.

She spent day after day like this, her mind ravenous for answers and her frustration growing as answers failed to present themselves.

It was on such a day that she flinched awake to find her tea cold and the fire dying that she was struck, suddenly, by a bout of claustrophobia. She felt the walls were too close, the air was too thick and the dust too abrasive to her nostrils and she furiously kicked off her blanket. She had no idea how long she had been asleep for, but she quickly left the room.

The church was slightly more airy and much colder than the comfortable room, but she made for the door and opened it wide.

It was dark outside, and raining. Squinting through the darkness, she could make out the clock on top of Town Hall. It was nearly time for her to go home-- not far, just two houses behind the church-- and she sighed, her breath coming out as a puffy white cloud that dissipated in the brisk air.

She would have retreated back inside to search for her cloak if at that minute the flicker of light hadn't caught her eye. Through an open door, a long slick of yellow light creeped across the square.

Villagers were filing out of Town Hall, carrying torches which they lit as they came out; they were all dressed for the weather. The lamps that hung in the village were all lit, however, so this strange display piqued her interest.

She grabbed her cloak and threw it over her shoulders before making her way to the group in front of Town Hall.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and many long, weary faces turned towards her.

"Mrs. Clearwell! We searched for ya, but ya weren't in the church," someone observed. Clearly, however, this was not a search party intended for _her_, so then what was amiss?

"I was in the back," she replied. "I suppose I didn't hear you. What's going on?"

"One of the Marigot boys went missing," a teenaged girl, Claire Hanson, answered with a shake of the head.

"Which one?"

"Tommy."

"Oh, dear. He didn't get himself stuck in the well again, did he?" Tess asked, trying to hold back a bark of inappropriate laughter at the memory. The nine-year-old boy had a knack for constantly getting into trouble and if it hadn't been for that one dog, he might have rotted down there.

"No, ma'am, first place we checked," Kenneth Hanson replied in his sister's stead. "He just up and disappeared. His folks sent him ta get some firewood from the shed and poof, he was gone."

Tess shook her head.

"Wenda must be pulling her hair out by now," Tess shook her head.

"Yep. She been cryin' for hours," Claire nodded.

"I'll go visit her, then," Tess said. "She might find some consolation in the Light."

Claire and Kenneth nodded, awed by such a big word as 'consolation'.

In truth, Tess wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. She woke up exhausted, as people often did after sleeping during the day, and she did not want to distrupt her sleeping patterns any further. But she recognised that she had a duty in the village and that she fulfilled a role and that, in the end, she could not disappoint Daniel.

But added to that was the fact that this particular tragedy had struck the Marigots, of all people. While she knew this could all be a coincidence, she dreaded the eventuality that it wasn't.

She went back to the church and snuffed all the candles, then hurried as best she could to the Marigots' house.

As she arrived there, her boots and the hem of her robes caked with mud, she happened upon a quietly sobbing Wenda with at least a dozen women milling about her, holding her hand, patting her back, making her tea and offering moral support. Two of the Hanson sisters were there, as well as the mayor's wife, Marla Kerligan, Hope Thompsy and her daughter Cora, Hank Dunvoy's elderly mother and even two of Tess's cousins, Greta and Vera.

They all cleared out of the way as Tess approached Wenda, however. At times, the respect villagers offered her was perfunctory, a deference to her station, rather than to her. She was a necessity and she provided a service nobody else could replace and the Gilnean sense of pride dictated that they treat her courteously, but without humbling themselves. But this time, as their gazes followed her, the priestess could sense their almost desperate need for reassurance, the need for Tess to be their very own beacon of light. Not just of light: of the Holy Light.

Tess kneeled before Wenda and clasped her hands, looking up to her blotchy, wet face.

"Wenda, stop crying, please," Tess asked softly. "Look at me. Crying now won't help your boy, understand? Don't cry. We just have to wait. And you have to put your mind at ease. Open your soul to the Light and let it comfort you until your son is returned to you."

Wenda stopped crying momentarily while still seeming on the brink of hysterics, but she nodded shakily and lowered her head. Her lips moved soundlessly in a prayer Tess thought she recognised-- an old one she'd heard her mother say once or twice (_Light be my shield_, it went, _and Light be my weapon_)-- and her grip on the priestess' hand was like iron. Tess stared at Wenda's hands as well; the hands of a worried mother gripping desperately at hope.

---

The night was a long and troubled one. Tess was grateful for the little sleep she got during the day, because for hours on end, she and Wenda prayed with fervor, even as the rest of the women looked increasingly exhausted by this affair.

Yet, no news came all night, no sign that their prayers would find an echo in the material world; quite the opposite, in fact. As the first hesitant light filtered through the heavy clouds and the rain stopped, yells could be heard from outside. Wenda perked visibly, sure that her husband would burst through the door, carrying her misplaced son, but Tess recognised the tone of the commotion. It was not the sound of happiness or relief; it was angered, panicked barks of instructions.

The door burst open and Bill Thompsy appeared in the doorframe. He looked grim, much like he did that day on the hill behind this very house.

"Mrs. Clearwell," he said, looking her in the eye. "You're needed right away."

She realised that even without him saying it. Her joints creaking in protest and her muscles stiff, she grabbed her cloak and rushed out the door after him.

Over the hill, a group was moving together, in an awkward, arhythmic fashion. She noticed they were carrying a makeshift gurney in which rested none other than Hank Dunvoy.

"What happened?" she asked, trotting up the hill to meet the group half-way.

"Damn fool rushed after it, the thick-skulled bastard," Bill muttered, shaking his head.

The gurney was set on the ground and Tess kneeled next to him, in the mud. Hank's left arm seemed as if it had been gored by a wild animal and the man himself was shivering, sweating profusely and babbling about wolves on two legs.

The priestess rarely had to call on her gift to heal people. Or at least, not to this extent. She closed her eyes and sucked in a long breath, starting on an old prayer, her glowing hands hovering just above Hank. Gentle light sank into him and blanketed his entire left side. The man's nonsensical babbling stopped and his shivers subsided, but he still looked thoroughly ill.

Tess kept the healing light going until she felt too exhausted to continue. Then, she finally inspected her handiwork. The wound had not closed completely (she had not expected it to, either. She was not quite so skilled), but it no longer looked fatal.

"We need to get him cleaned and his wounds dressed," she instructed wearily. "I'll heal him some more after I recover a bit."

The men grunted in acknowledgement.

Satisfied, she climbed back to her feet-- and promptly collapsed.

---

Author's note: _To answer Emmy's question: yes, you're right about Tess's age. She's 23-24 in this fic, according to my timeline. Also, I've inadvertedly made a Lassie reference in this chapter. Why?... I have no idea. But apart from that, if Mayor Kerligan's name seems vaguely familiar, it's because StarCraft II has been on my mind lately._


	4. Chapter 4

Passing out did not feel like sleeping. When she woke up from her unconcious state, she could not remember the reason she was stretched out on a bed or why her cousins were chattering nervously around her, splashing her with water and wondering if Wenda had smelling salts.

She sprung up and regretted it immediately, because a wave of heated pain washed through head, momentarily blinding her.

"What happened?" Tess asked.

"You fainted," Greta answered, wringing her hands nervously.

"No, to Hank Dunvoy!" she growled, annoyed. "What happened to him? Did they find Tommy? Was he attacked by wolves?"

"Oh," Greta bit her lip nervously. "I don't know. They didn't find Tommy, but they keep talking about some... _thing_... in the woods. Something with claws and fangs and fur, but they're not very clear on the details. They keep contradicting each other. Ben Findley says it was as big as a cow, even though everybody else says it was only as big as any wolf, though it didn't much look it, while Kyle Marigot swears the thing was wearing Tommy's clothes. I think they're still arguing about all that. But they all agree, Hank jumped towards it into a ravine and the thing jumped and clamped down on his arm and tried dragging him off."

"Why'd he go after it?" Tess sighed, throwing her feet over the edge of the bed and slowly rising to her feet.

"Who knows?" Vera shrugged. "It was dark. He probably saw moving and figured it was Tommy. By the time he realised otherwise, he was already getting mauled by the beastie."

"Is he alright now?"

"Well, he's not dead, at least," Greta said slowly. "But he fell asleep and his breathing is nice and strong, so I guess he'll be alright."

"What time is it?" Tess moved to the door, but stopped and looked around the room, confused. The light filtering through the window was wane.

"It's late morning, I reckon," Greta shrugged.

Tess nodded wearily and slowly made her way outside and down the stairs.

It was quiet down there, not to mention roomier than the night before. Most everyone had left, save for the Marigots themselves, Mrs. Dunvoy and her cousins. She learned Hank was in another room in the house, the one belonging to the two eldest Marigot boys. The men had dispersed, because they all had their own homes and families to tend to, but Kyle Marigot and his sons ate a quick breakfast and went back out to search for Tommy. Even though nobody was saying this to the Marigots' faces, nobody had much hope of finding the boy alive.

She checked up on Hank and realised there was not much else she could do for him. Sleep was probably the best remedy for now, so she went home herself, planning to get some of her own. She felt utterly exhausted, not just because of the effort it took to channel the Light, but also from the long vigil of the night before.

Surprisingly, she found that her steps did not take her home, but to the church. She collapsed in one of the pews and brought her hands together, desperate to find words that would express all her fears and pleas to the Light, but she found her mind blank and her soul weary. She could not imagine why the peace of her little village had been disrupted in so violent a fashion. She could not fathom how to fix any of this. There must have been words to set this right or to inspire hope, but she could not find them.

Tess went home and tried not to think about anything.

---

That night, the minor crisis of Hillbrook took a turn that nobody could have anticipated. Some time in the night, screams rose from the Marigot homestead.

Or, perhaps, not screams, exactly, so much as howls. They were much too low and guttural to be wolf howls, however, and the alien sounds chilled villagers to the bone, because there was something overtly predatory in their intonation.

Perhaps it was shameful, but nobody made any move to approach the house at first. Only long after the howls had stopped did pitchforks and torches come out and, within the safety of a sizeable mob, the villagers approached the house.

But the Marigots were not there. Blood splattered the floor, a long trail from the parlor to the door, but Wenda Marigot and Hank Dunvoy were gone. The elderly Mrs. Dunvoy was stretched on the floor, dead, but otherwise untouched. Whatever she'd witnessed had probably given the woman a heart attack. Kyle Marigot was still out in the forest along with the two eldest sons, but the second-youngest, Eric, was dead on the floor, torn to ribbons, as if in anger, by some monster, because no human had claws and fangs do so such a thing and no animal had such a streak of cruelty to parallel that of humans.

Nobody could really fathom what had happened there. Pale-faced and frightened, people gathered in the Town Hall. Mayor Kerligan looked as pale as a wax statue and not much more animate than one, either.

Tess was somewhere to the side of the room, not feeling much better herself. Her general malaise for the past day was rapidly turning into stark terror, but there was still a detached part of her that had already crossed into hysteria and was now threatening to make her laugh at the situation and never stop.

Everybody murmured low, but the discussion that they were supposed to be having was not forthcoming. Finally, Bill Thompsy gently guided the mayor to a seat, lest he faint dead on his feet, and stepped in front of the crowd, clearing his throat to catch everybody's attention.

"I think it's obvious," Bill started, "that some manner of monster has taken up residence in the woods over the hill from the Marigots. It... it would explain, I think, why they were the first attacked. Until... uh... I think the best course of action is to send word to Duskhaven and they can send word to the King so that he can send soldiers." He swallowed nervously and looked around the room. "I think, until then, it's best we have a curfew. Like... uh... five minutes before nightfall, we all need to be home and with the doors locked. If nightfall comes and we're some place else, we head for the nearest neighbor with a sturdy door and stay there for the night."

Protests were finally starting to be heard, as people snapped out of their stupor, finally, but they came mostly from the village drunk, Greg Reilly, a man well-known for indulging his vices well into the night.

"That's hogwash, Thompsy," Greg was yelling. "The damn beast hasn't come inside the village and I don't think it's gonna. Why should we listen to you?"

A few murmurs of approval. _It's only some wild animal_, they said._ Why should we fear it? The situation is not as bad as that. It can't be as bad as that. We don't want it to be as bad as that, so we'll pretend it isn't._

"Why shouldn't we listen to him?" Old Brad Hanson spoke up. "He's right. The Marigots were just the first to get eaten by this thing, as far as we know. Do we really wanna risk the same fate as them?"

"Then we'll do something else," Greg Reilly muttered, but still loudly enough to be heard.

"Like what? You got any suggestions?" Old Brad asked. "Build a moat, maybe?" he continued derisively, making Greg turn red and his face scrunch up in a horrible scowl.

"How about a fence, or something?" someone suggested.

"Or a wall."

"No, no, a barricade. We barricade the streets and this thing'll have no way of getting in!"

More and more suggestions started flying. Bill Thompsy and Brad Hanson were quickly ignored, as the mayor once again took the lead. Kerligan might not have been any good at dealing with exotic problems, but he was exceedingly good at dealing with domestic ones. Soon enough, lists with materials and the work schedule for the barricades were written up, but Tess had already left.

She walked the empty streets alone, wondering how long it would be until it was no longer safe to do so.

She sighed and looked at the lanterns hanging on every corner. For once, she did not find their flickering lights comforting. She instead found them mildly ominous.


	5. Chapter 5

The barricades started going up in the morning, as Tess prepared for Mrs. Dunvoy's funeral. Myrah Dunvoy, now with a missing husband, a dead mother-in-law and six children to raise, looked every bit as haggard and frightened as Tess felt. All in all, she could not be blamed for rushing with preparations and giving up on the usual three days of wake.

The funeral was a small affair, partly because many were much too preoccupied with the new barricade and partly because Mrs. Dunvoy hadn't had many friends still alive. But by noon, Tess had finished with everything and, after a few more words of comfort to Myrah Dunvoy, she wandered near the edge of the village, trying to get a good look at the barricade. It was coming along slowly, she realised, the initial enthusiasm about the project now tempered by problems of logistics. Too many ways in, not enough material and not nearly as many people showed up to build it as had offered the night before. A night of sleep seemed to have done wonders for the worries of even the most jittery villagers, Tess noted with cynism.

She returned to the church to a surprise, in the form of an unkempt man and a wolf. She recognised the hunter that had been there, that day, on the hill. He was leaning against a pew, smoking his pipe with his wolf curled up on the ground next to him.

"You're not allowed to smoke in here," she said, right away. Then, her eyes fell to his blunderbuss and to the small flintlock on his belt. "And you're not allowed weapons, either," she added.

"Don't see the problem, really," he muttered around his pipe. "Don't you already have smoke from candles and that smelly stuff you priests always light up?"

"That's incense and it's entirely different from your... from your snuff," she said, passing right by him in a huff.

He erupted in ragged barks of laughter at this. His wolf, Kerrie, looked up confused, but he patted her head.

"You have no idea what snuff is, huh?" he managed to say after calming down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking cheek to a priest. I'm Charlie Gant."

He extended his hand, clad in a filthy fingerless glove, and she hesitantly extended hers. He grabbed it and shook it firmly, though he was considerate enough not to crush her frail fingers.

"I'm Tess Clearwell. What do you need?"

"Right to the point, I see," he commented, taking out his pipe (though not putting it out, she noted with displeasure). "Well, I had some business here in town and I might have to spend the night. But see, you don't have an inn so some nice folks sent me here, said the church might offer a roof for the night."

Tess blinked at this. Usually, someone would offer a barn or an attic to wanderers that needed it. The latest incident, however, seemed to have turned people cautious. An inherent human instinct that Gilneans had overdeveloped over time was to shut out strangers in time of crisis. The hunter was probably lucky to have been allowed into the village at all.

"I see," was the only thing she said, neither comforming nor denying this claim.

"I hear there was some trouble with wild animals recently," Charlie Gant lowered his voice. "Folks don't seem eager to talk about it, but I figure I can help."

"No, I don't think you can," Tess sighed and gestured for him to sit down.

She sat in an opposite pew from him and relayed the events of the past two days. He listened, perhaps out of curiosity at first, but as she went on, he looked increasingly disturbed and eventually lowered in gaze thoughtfully.

"Hmmm," was his only reply as she finished the tale.

He brooded over his pipe for a few minute, until Tess got up.

"Priestess--" He patted Kerrie's head, looking grim. "I have been a hunter nearly my entire life. I've traveled the wilds, not just in Gilneas, but through Lordaeron, as well, and I must say... There is something new stalking outside your little village."

Tess seated herself again.

"What are you saying?" she asked slowly. "You know what manner of creature did this?"

"I don't," he answered quickly. "At least, not exactly. But Kerrie and me-- we notice things. Strange tracks, tufts of fur caught on branches. Deer gored and left mostly uneaten. There's something big and vicious prowling about. It's why I didn't feel exactly comfortable sleeping in the woods, as I normally do," he added sheepishly.

Tess rubbed her temples. Her head hadn't quite started aching yet, but she could just feel the impending migraine.

"Alright, so... but... they're building the barricades," she said, sounding a bit desperate even to her own ears.

Charlie snorted.

"What, that's what they were building? This village has too many ways in and even if you plugged every hole, I'm guessing the creatures could jump those little hurdles easily."

"Creatures? You think there's more than one?"

Charlie hesitated.

"I... don't mean to alarm you, priestess, but... there were two pairs of tracks of differing size and... well, odds are that there's more of these things, anyway."

Tess sighed.

"Then, we should tell the mayor or..." She pursed her lips unhappily. "What should we do?"

"I don't know. Form a hunting party, I'd say," he shrugged. "I wouldn't chance going after these things alone, but twenty or thirty able-bodied men should do the job nicely."

"Thirty?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a bit... excessive."

Charlie shrugged. "You may think so, but..."

"But?"

"I don't know. Hunter's instinct?" he shrugged. "Trust me. This has the potential of turning out badly."

---

Kyle Marigot and his sons never returned from their search. Considering how things had gone lately, Tess was not entirely surprised. She held rites to rest their souls, as it was the only thing she could do for now, and she went about her business.

Three days later, it snowed. All interest in the barricade had waned by that point and everybody was saying that they'd build it in spring._ As long as we stick to the village_, they were saying, _we're safe_. _So why bother?_

Charlie Gant had spent the three nights in the church's back room on an improvised cot. He was waiting for the blacksmith to finish fixing his light armor, a job that would have taken half a day, if the village hadn't been in turmoil. He constantly apologised for imposing on Tess, obviously quite angry with himself. Hunters were always the independent type and to rely on another person in such a manner was clearly a source of stress for the man.

However, Tess would not have allowed him to leave and spend night elsewhere either way. She found herself increasingly uneasy with walking too near the edge of the village and the thought of Charlie venturing deep into the wilderness gave her twinges of concern.

She was not sure how he spent his days, though. He always disappeared in the morning and re-appeared in the evenings. Sometimes she'd catch glimpses of him around the village, and he'd give her a slight nod in greeting as he talked with some villager or another. Once she'd seen him enter the tavern, but exit it quickly enough when the tavernkeeper made it clear that wolves were most certainly not allowed in the establishment. He seemed extremely insulted by this, even as Kerrie looked bored and disinterested in the affairs of humans.

She spoke with him in the evenings, when he arrived at the church. At first it was merely about Hillbrook's peculiar situation, but they'd branched out after a while. He told her about his travels, of places he'd visited in and around Gilneas and of places far away. She talked philosophy, a subject she was fascinated with, but never had the opportunity to talk about. He feigned interest admirably, Tess thought. And they both recounted anecdotes and memories from their childhood, bonding over their shared fear of bees and deep appreciation for eggplant salad.

Tess could've gotten used quite easily with such a routine, if it had been meant to last.

---

Author's note: _Fun fact: Charlie was not originally planned into this story. But once I wrote him in, I found it taking a completely different direction than first planned and, I think, one that worked better than my initial, vague ideas for the ending._


	6. Chapter 6

The snow was still fresh in most of the village. While a gaggle of children had gathered in front of Town Hall for a snowfight, most everywhere else, the snow looked untouched and smooth. Tess could see how people tended to be lulled into a feeling of security, as if all their problems had been washed clean by the pure white.

Still, as her thoughts wandered, they ended up in dark places. Impressions of cold and fear mingled inside her, warding away her peace.

She shook her head as she walked. She was being silly. Nobody else worried as she did, although perhaps the answer was not that _she_ needed to worry _less_, but that_ they _needed to worry _more_.

As she rounded a corner, she found herself coming face to face with Kerrie. The she-wolf walked rapidly, with her ears flat against her skull and her tail beneath her legs and, upon noticing Tess, she approached the prietess and whined piteously. The wolf's brown eyes seemed to be pleading with Tess and the latter found herself once again worrying herself.

"Hello, girl," she spoke softly, kneeling and stretching out a hand. "Where's Charlie? Hmm? Where did you leave him?"

If the wolf understood human speech or if it had been her intention to find Tess either way, it wasn't clear. But Kerrie barked once, ran three feet in a direction and looked back at Tess, clearly expecting her to follow. Tess understood right away and set off at a brisk pace after the wolf.

Kerrie sprung ahead and stopped often, looking back after Tess. When she got too far ahead and the priestess wasn't fast enough, she anxiously paced back and forth, growling softly. It wasn't hard to keep up with her, even if her snow coat had come in and she was more of a light grey, but the cold exacerbated Tess's exhaustion and the very act of breathing soon became painful. But she did not stop, not even when Kerrie clearly insisted leaving the village and not even when she passed the Marigot house at a distance. Charlie was in trouble and she felt oddly obligated to help.

It seemed Kerrie was leading them constantly north, through the woods. Where the trees were closer together, there wasn't snow on the ground so much as a canopy of frozen leaves, but the uneven terrain made the trek difficult.

Eventually Kerrie slowed and Tess managed to catch up with her. The wolf was on top of a hillock, looking down at something and whining slightly, as her ears flicked nervously. Tess followed her gaze and realised with a start that it was Charlie. Or, at least, Charlie's back. He was crouched on the ground, shaky fists clenching at his own hair.

Tess couldn't tell what was wrong, even if he was not terribly far away, but Kerrie looked deeply hesitant to approach.

She carefully considered the matter, of course. Charlie might have been a friend, but she'd only known him-- truly known him-- for three days. She did not understand the situation and she would most likely be walking into danger. She knew all this. She was aware of the risks.

And yet, she found herself walking decidedly towards him. True, her hand was clenching at the icon on her necklace and her mind was conjuring all kinds of different scenarios of danger, but her legs were still working and the distance was getting smaller.

"Charlie?" she called out, once thought she was close enough. Her voice had been soft, but he flinched as if she'd been next to his ear and screaming through a bullhorn. She could not see his face and so could not begin to glean what was amiss. "Charlie? What's wrong?"

He started shaking. With the cold, it oughtn't have been a surprise, but she realised suddenly that he was also sobbing. At least, that was what it sounded like.

"Charlie?" she asked, even softer.

"Go away," he said suddenly, his voice weak and desperate. "Go away. Run, run, run, go away, run, now, please--" His voice cracked on the last word.

For some reason, the more he insisted she leave, the more that made Tess approach. He closed the distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Charlie, what's wrong?" she asked, sounding much more firm and confident than she truly felt.

What happened in the next few seconds, Tess wasn't sure. It would be quite some time before she'd remember it clearly again, but she vaguely recalled Charlie screaming... or growling.

He pushed her hand away as his arms began growing fur and his fingers became clawed. She lost her balance and fell on her back just in time to see a dark shadow rise above Charlie's smoke-enveloped form, the silhouette of claws and malicious eyes projected on the cold winter air, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

She attempted to sit up again, but she was knocked back, this time by Charlie-- or by what had once been Charlie. Almost a head taller than the hunter, the creature was lupine in appearance and Tess found herself paralysed by the sight of the snarling maw. She remembered most clearly yellow irises framed by black and a wild mane, as well as the claws digging into her shoulders, drawing blood.

He growled deeply as he held her like that. Whatever his intentions, the mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth and the long claws did not give her much hope for survival. Tess found her mind reeling, grasping at any course of action that might help. _Maybe someone is nearby, should I call for help? No, hit him. But that might make him angry. He's so strong, oh, Light, he's going to tear my throat out what is he what should I do think Tess quick think think oh Light someone help Daniel help me Light yes Light be my shield and--_

Somewhere, in her mind, she felt something akin to tension snap and pour outwards. The-creature-that-was-Charlie yelped and jumped back as if burned, shaking his head. Not even looking at her, he turned around and loped off on all fours, gracefully leaping over a log and disappearing from sight.

Tess lifted herself on her elbows and watched, stunned, as he ran off.

_Ah,_ she thought_. So that's a mind blast._

She let out a slightly hysterical giggle and wondered why her muscles felt as if they were made of gelatin. As she sat up and let out a shuddering breath, she realised her cheeks were wet, even though she couldn't remember when she'd started crying. Her shoulders were burning with pain and she felt a warm trickle against her shoulderblade.

Kerrie had been watching all this from afar and just now approached Tess, hesitant and miserable-looking. She trotted up to the priestess and sniffed her face as if making sure she was alright and Tess chose that moment to break down completely.

Sobbing, she buried her face in the wolf's fur and babbled incoherent prayers and curses to the Light.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time she returned to the village, her absence had been noted. She must have made quite a sight, with her clothes wet and dirty, leaves in her hair and big, bloodied holes in the shoulders of her robe, even if she'd gotten around to healing the shallow scratches Charlie had left her with. Kerrie had disappeared into the woods, probably going to search for Charlie, leaving the priestess to find her own way back, dazed though she was.

She wondered, as she stumbled into the village under the stunned gazes of her neighbors, if she would be traumatised by that day's events. It struck her as a strange thing to wonder about, but it was a valid concern.

"Mrs. Clearwell!" someone yelled. Soon enough, gentle hands were guiding her towards the tavern and pulling up a chair for her and putting a hot cup of tea in her hands. She accepted all these ministrations without so much as a blink. Yes, she decided. She _would_ end up traumatised. _How terrible_, she thought dryly.

Questions were flying towards her from every direction. She latched onto the one repeated the most ("What happened?") and slowly started telling them about Charlie. She tried to accurately describe what he'd turned into-- the fangs, the claws, the shaggy mane-- and found herself returning repeatedly to those wild, yellow eyes.

There were angry shouts, probably. Certainly there had been rallying cries, she thought she remembered. The men wanted to form a hunting party.

What happened that day, however, made little difference in the greater scheme of things.

Tess returned home soon after that. She vaguely recalled the villagers being extremely agitated about this hunt they were planning, because nobody stopped her from going.

Upon arriving home, however, she found the nearest chair, sat in it and stared at the floor for a few good hours.

---

She had rats in the attic. She had suspected it for some time, but now she was sure, because she could smell it. She was also sure that the neighbors were cooking some sort of stew.

She knew the person to last pass by her house had been Phillip Briarson, because he always had a slight limp that was always worsened by cold. She knew this because she could hear it.

It was an odd thing, that was happening to her. She stood still, never moving from the chair, but she felt the limits of her perceptions slowly but surely extend outwards. Her senses were-- not sharpening-- but deepening. They did everything they had done up until that point, only moreso now than ever.

She first noticed it as she was returning home that the daylight felt distinctly uncomfortable, throwing edges and shadows into focus and dulling colours. But it was only after she reached her quiet little house that she noticed that it was not quiet at all. She doubted it had ever been quiet, but how was it that she hadn't noticed all this before? Why did she just now notice how the floorboards groaned and the furniture squeaked, even when they weren't being touched? How did she not realise until now how loud her feet sounded when they even lightly brushed against the carpet?

And then the smells... Why could she smell dust and snow? Why could she still smell burnt wood from the fireplace, which hadn't been lighted since morning? Why could she smell the rats in the attic and the lingering traces of Daniel?

And strangest of all, why did she not care if these questions were even answered?

She could remember her life clearly, though with some great detachment. She knew of the Light and she knew of Daniel and, for the first time, she felt oddly distanced from these two elements, formative though they had been for her. Something was different about her mind, she sensed. Something had changed slowly, her priorities subtly rearranged and her focus shifted.

She was waiting, she surmised. Waiting for what? Something to complete the strange transition happening in her mind.

Looking up, she realised the irritating daylight had waned and had left behind a soothing green-tinted light, a lingering twilight long after the sun had already set.

Ah, she realised. This was it. This was the catalyst of her new awakening.

Nightfall.


	8. Chapter 8

_The heavy spring rains had stopped days before, but the smell of wet earth remained. She lifted her muzzle to the wind and tried to catch other scents than that of the rotting leaves. She smelled water; she had not been searching for water in particular, but a deeply wired opportunism prodded her in that direction, regardless. She could hear it now, the gentle murmur of the stream._

_The trek took her near the edges of the hunting grounds, where there were still dangers for those such as her. But she did not think of this, because her mind was anchored in the immediacy of instinct and sensation._

_She reached the stream where it poured into a small lake and approached the placid surface of water with fascination. The full moon was reflected perfectly and she had to squelch the urge to run and catch it as she remembered that water was not solid. She lapped the water instead, watching the ripples running across the lake surface, reflecting shards of moonlight. On a whim, she looked down at her own reflection and the bottom of her snout brushed against something._

_Reeling back, she pawed at this object and in the process cut the string that tied it to her neck with a claw. It plopped into the shallow water at the shore and she scooped it up._

_She looked at this strange object with intrigue. It was silvery and bizarrely shaped. It was also small in her paw and all the jagged edges dug into her padded palm._

_But... she kept watching it, because she felt it was important. Was it food? An investigative sniff told her no. It certainly wasn't water and it was not heat. It was not blood, either, nor was it territory. Then why was it important? What other things were important? Was it safety?_

_She hesitated at this last one. It made her feel somewhat safer, but it did not do anything. It was not sheer strength nor claws. How did this trinket relate to safety?_

_A claw brushed against the object, but did not pierce it._

_There was something in her mind about this item. Something distant, too far away for her thoughts to reach. She needed more strength to remember. She needed... she needed... something. She needed to find something else before she could reach this._

_Her patience snapped at this and she dropped the blasted thing, growling low._

_She turned her head (not in anger, because for her kind, anger consumed them permanently, a smoldering presence in the backs of their minds that barely merited notice anymore). She caught a familiar scent as the winds changed and the object was forgotten._

_Out of the brush on the other side of the lake, _he_ stepped out. His yellow eyes stopped on her and he lowered his head in a strange vestigial gesture that passed between them sometimes; a greeting, the remnant of their former lives. He vocalised his intentions to her, a series of sounds that would have been nothing more than growls and barks to the human ear, but that she understood more clearly than any civilised tongue._

_It was time to extend their territory. It was time to venture into the stone and wood forest where those furless creatures lived._

_Throwing his head back, he howled._

_After a moment, she joined in; all those things that she could not remember were soon forgotten._

---

Author's note: And this is the end. Thanks to all the reviewers, you guys are great. Hopefully this fic provided a few moments of amusement until Cataclysm comes out.


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